What of it?” There was a shout of laughter. “Take me back. ‘Why, that’s it. I know all about it. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. "I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered.
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